Calls of the Deep
by DifferentlySane12
Summary: The Blight was over. The Darkspawn had been routed. Ferelden was safe and his duty, completed. Yet, Dante Cousland has returned to Thedas, but this time for a selfish purpose: to cure the Calling. Yet, duty is not so easily shirked and Dante will find himself battling secrets long kept hidden in the deepest bowels of the Deep Roads and enemies from a past he hoped to leave behind.
1. Act I:I - A Hero's Return

**_Disclaimer: All right to the Dragon Age series belong to Bioware and, sadly, EA._**

* * *

 _Our family… always does our duty first…_

Blood streams down his cheek onto the pool he lies on. Under crushed and scalded armor, his breathing turns shallow, and his body remains stiff and still. His bloody hand lies over the bleeding hole in his stomach, while the other lies limp by his side. Glowing icy blue irises dim as darkness enshrouds his vision. He feels himself fall down a black well of oblivion as the faces of those long dead come up to greet him, beckoning him to join them. He allows one final breath, and welcomes peace.

Dante Cousland hated Orlais. From its elaborately decorated halls to its masked nobles as they watched them with hidden scrutiny, he hated Orlais. Yet here he was, walking down the golden halls of the Imperial Palace, with a witch and their son by his side. Their talk with the Empress of Orlais and her elven spymaster had proven fruitful.

" _What would you offer me then, O' great Hero of Ferelden_?" the silver-haired Empress had said in her long dress of purple silk with large golden roses down the front. Beside her sat her spymaster, a masked elven woman with a nimble figure, and her champion, a blonde square-faced man in ornamented Orlesian armor that befit someone of the royal guard.

Dante had looked at Morrigan, the svelte witch with long black hair and large, mysterious golden eyes. "The witch who had stolen the Hero's heart" was the title the bards had given her in the stories. It was not without its due.

" _My knowledge of the arcane_ ," Morrigan had offered. " _All that I know will be yours. We only ask for refuge for myself and my son, along with the freedom to learn more_."

The deal was made… on one condition.

" _In the near future, my Lord Cousland, I will come before you with an offer. You shall remember this moment when you contemplate whether or not to accept it_ ," she had said as she departed.

Now, the three of them walked the halls, a strange sight for the Orlesian nobility. Walking through their golden halls was a Grey Warden in black armor, a witch in velvet rags, and a young boy — whose young eyes wandered from face to face with unearthly understanding. Finally, they reached the room that would be Morrigan's. They opened the door to reveal a grand chamber with royal red curtains draping over the windows, a king-sized bed, and a Vanity dressing table at the side. Other than that, it was mostly empty.

"At least you'll have plenty of room," Dante noted as he tapped his foot against the soft crimson carpet. Morrigan frowned.

"So much space that the Orlesians knew not what to do with, it seems." She dropped her knapsack onto the Vanity table. She pulled out the Eluvian shard, a piece of the portal that Morrigan and Dante had ventured through five years ago. They had crossed into a new world, tranquil and quiet, in complete contrast from the one they left behind. There they had raised their son Kieran, a boy with the soul of an Old God, to fulfill the destiny promised to him: to bring about a new age in Thedas. It was a peaceful set of years, a reward for Dante's sacrifices. A reward for all the pain wrought upon him. A reward for all the blood he shed. Yet that reward had been robbed from him.

It began with the Calling.

Dante had awoken to it, panting and sweating, after the first nightmare he had in years. It was a nightmare of fire and blood, where the sky had been torn asunder by a great war. Where a dragon and a giant did battle, shattering the earth beneath them and sending Thedas up in flames. Where dead gods rose from ancient prisons to lay plunder to the world anew. When Dante awoke, he could hear the first whispers of the Calling, dark whispers piercing the back of his mind like daggers in the dark.

So, Dante left the small cottage that they had built in the middle of the emerald plains they lived on. He looked to the sky, expecting to see the same misty sapphire blue sky he was beginning to grow used to, only to watch as it shattered before his eyes. He and Morrigan had never planned to stay in that world, but they were forced to leave sooner than expected. Maybe it was for the best. Kieran needed to experience the world he was born into, and Dante would have needed to deal with the Calling eventually. Yet, it came _too_ soon, which bothered him.

Kieran stood in front of the window, watching the passersby as they walked in and out of the palace. His face was twisted in horrified confusion. Dante stood next to him and ruffled Kieran's combed hair. He knelt to Kieran's level.

"What do you see, pup?" Dante whispered. He had always been told that his hoarse voice held an aggressive tone to it. Yet, whenever he spoke to Kieran his voice would die down to a gentle whisper.

Kieran shook his head. "They are all blind, Father. They can't _see_!" Kieran croaked. The sheer horror and dismay in his voice took Dante aback. This was Kieran's first time in the real world and Dante had expected to see more of the boyish excitement he had shown when told of their journey. Yet, there had been no excitement when they arrived, only curiosity and shock. Dante couldn't yet tell if it was a good thing.

"What can't they see, pup?"

"The strings of the Veil. The veins of the Fade," Kieran said innocently. His demeanor grew calmer.

Dante sighed and pressed his forehead against Kieran's. Kieran giggled at the gesture and Dante couldn't help but smile. At the same time, however, he was disturbed. He had never been fully in favor of the Dark Ritual, and Kieran's nightmares and riddles had only served to further that disapproval. There were moments where Kieran was a normal boy and other moments when he was something else entirely.

"I must be leaving then," Dante said and walked over to Morrigan, who had her back turned to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. Though he couldn't see it, he knew she was smiling. He let his cold black gauntlets trace lines across her exposed stomach.

"You know," he whispered in her ear, "you really should change your attire."

Morrigan's head snapped towards him with a scowl. Morrigan preferred the burgundy garb that hung down her chest, revealing a faint outline of her breasts, with only strings and patches to hold it all together. The feathers that poked out of her robe's shoulders were a representation of herself: dark, free, and proud. Still, however, such scantily-clad attire would not be suited for the royal courts of Orlais.

"We are _not_ having this conversation now…," she fumed. Dante rolled his eyes.

"It would be best. That is if you even want to blend in."

"My choice of _attire_ is of my own choosing, as that is what I am most comfortable with! I refuse to be forced to wear a dress simply to appeal to the opinions of sheep."

"And yet," Dante said as poked her sides, causing her to squirm, "survival is about adaptability, not comfort."

Morrigan paused. "You have been spending far too much time with me."

"Not enough," Dante murmured. Morrigan stroked the stubble on his chin and tried to contain the smile on her face. For a moment, they looked at the scene the mirror portrayed. Of a Warden and a witch, turned cold by the world around them, yet still finding warmth in the other's embrace. She, eventually, slipped from his embrace and walked to Kieran who sat on the bed, yawning. Dante, on the other hand, continued to look at the Warden in the mirror. His hair was a dark brown and was loosely tied back in a long braid. His square face was twisted in a permanent glare and the one long scar that ran diagonally across the bridge of his nose only added to his angry appearance. It was a far cry from the noble boy he had once been.

"Come, little man," Morrigan said as she lay Kieran on the bed, "'tis time for bed."

"And father?" Kieran cried out. Dante walked to Morrigan's side and looked down at his son, only to see Kieran's face in complete dismay.

"Father! Will you be leaving now?"

" _No_ ," he wanted to say.

"I will, Pup," Dante said instead, with a false smile of reassurance, "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Kieran's hand shot out and grasped his father's. Dante felt Kieran squeeze it and looked at Kieran with wide-eyed confusion… and horror.

" **When you see the light father, reach for it! Kalengrad seeks his champion!"**

There was a distant booming echo to Kieran's voice, shaking the room around them. Morrigan grabbed Kieran's face and turned it towards her. She looked into his eyes, which seemed to look past her. Dante took Kieran's hand in his and he could feel the tension as the boy clenched his fist. The two of them called out his name, yet there was no response. Dante could hear glass shatter around him and the clattering of a thousand things across the palace. The whispers of the Calling came roaring back at him, leaving him only to grit his teeth as he bore through it. He wanted to scream and pound his head against the wall to get the whispers out, but he couldn't. He couldn't move.

Eventually, the grip on Dante's hand softened and the world began to calm around him, but Kieran's face remained horrified.

"Kieran! What was that?" Morrigan searched Kieran's eyes for an answer as she questioned him.

Dante's own voice came out as a desperate croak. "Kieran. Pup. What light? Who is Kalengrad?" Repeating the name sent shivers down Dante's spine. "What happened?"

"I… don't know." Kieran shook his head slowly, as tears welled up in his wide, brown eyes. His eyes continued to look to the vaulted ceiling for answers. "I don't know."

Dante and Morrigan held him in an embrace as he cried. They remained that way for a long time, ignoring the Orlesians who came pounding on their door. Eventually, Kieran went to sleep, soundly. When Dante and Morrigan opened the door to greet the guards outside, they feinted ignorance at the event. It took a bit of convincing, but eventually, the guards left content. A sigh of relief came out of their mouths as Dante and Morrigan walked out of the room and into the hall. The door to the room closed behind them as they walked out. She leaned against a statue of a nameless chevalier, while he folded his arms.

"The light? Kalengrad? What did he mean?" Dante questioned. Morrigan looked lost.

"I do not know," she said, lost.

"The nightmares. The visions. His powers." He shook his head. "They're getting worse."

"He'll survive," she said stubbornly. Dante glared at her.

"They are taking their toll," he snarled.

"He'll. Survive," she said again, more firmly. However, it wasn't firm enough to be believable and they both knew it. Dante opened his mouth to speak, but Morrigan shot him a sorrowful look.

 _Let it go_ , her eyes said. So, he did.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, until Dante rolled back his shoulder. "I should be going, then. The road to Denerim will be harsh and I promised Alistair to meet him within the month."

"Ask the fool if he has learned to knock during his time as king."

Dante laughed. "I'll ask," he promised. Morrigan huffed.

"Perhaps the weight of a crown has finally given him some sense. If not, I fear for the state of Ferelden."

"I'll give him your regards, then."

Dante turned to walk away until he was pulled back. He found himself looking down at Morrigan, their face inches part. She pulled his head down and their lips locked in a long kiss. It was a kiss to kill for and Dante wished nothing better than to lose himself in it. However, there was a sorrowfulness to it, a sense of finality. Finally, they pulled away. Wordlessly, he turned and began his long walk down the hall.

"Don't lose the ring!" she cried out behind him. Dante stopped and turned his head around with a sad smile.

"Never."

* * *

With the warmth of Morrigan and Kieran gone, Dante's face had regressed from its bright and smiling state to one of cold stoicism. The plan had been to travel straight to Denerim, over the Frostback Mountains and down the North Road, but Dante wanted to make a stop somewhere. As he traveled, Rex remained by his side, where the mabari hound always was.

Rex whined as Dante scratched the old dog's ear. He grabbed the hound's face and shook it with playful violence.

"Don't worry boy. We'll see them again," Dante assured him. Rex barked with excitement as the snow from the Frostbacks landed on his brown fur, which had traces of grey running down his back. The snow fell on the brown wool cloak that covered Dante's black armor. Unlike most Grey Wardens, his armor had a dragon's skull engraved on the chest piece, with glowing blood red highlights on the dragon's eyes and running around its mouth. The armor was said to have been used by the Warden that slew the Archdemon Dumat, in the First Blight. It was only fitting that it would be used by the Warden that slew the Archdemon Urthemiel, in the Fifth.

Dante and Rex continued their journey as they cut through the Coastlands. On the way, he was met by a Dalish elf and a lost girl, both seeking vengeance on those who had murdered the girl's family. He assisted them in their quest, one he could sympathize with all too well. The encounter served as a reminder of the darkness that still treads Thedas's lands. A reminder of the sacrifices made to get him where he now was. A reminder of the blurred faces of those he killed. A reminder of his duty.

It was then that he remembered a cool night. A camp. A warm campfire behind him and his old companions gathered around it. He remembered Wynne.

" _Ultimately, being a Grey Warden is about serving others, about serving all people, whether elves or dwarves or men_ ," she once taught him. They were words he had taken to heart.

She was probably gone by now. The spirit had probably left her, with her purpose fulfilled, and she was dead. Dead with all the others.

Dante became lost in solemn thought as he walked the maze of abandoned mines that led to Soldier's Peak, the secret Grey Warden fortress protected by the cold mountains of the Coastlands. Snow lay scattered across its stone roofs and icicles formed underneath those roofs as the tall towers of the fortress towered over him. The fortress had been the headquarters for the alliance between Orzammar, the Dalish, and the Ferelden monarchy during the Blight. Its existence, however, remained secret to only the Grey Wardens and the Dryden's, the family caretakers. Now, it was Avernus's glorified laboratory and the backup, should anything happen, to Vigil's Keep.

Horrors had been committed in this fortress, so many that some would've said it was haunted. With its eerie atmosphere and stench of death, Soldier's Peak even had demons lurking around the dusty, dark corners of its halls, until Dante liberated it. Inside the castle's towers, Dante and his companions found a remnant of Soldier's Peak's dark past: an old blood mage named Avernus. Somehow, Avernus had prolonged his life through unnatural means and suspended the Calling, all while trying to discover the secret of the Warden's Taint. It took two hundred years until he finally completed his work: a blood potion that served as the key to unlocking the potential power of the Taint. With that potion, Dante drank the blood of the Wardens of old and, in so doing, gained strength, speed, and a willpower that surpassed that of those around him.

Dante told Avernus to continue his research, unrestricted by the chains of morality, and the old blood mage was sent various test subjects from the body of Urthemiel to the body of The Architect. Five years ago, Avernus promised Dante a power that would rival the Old Gods themselves. Now, Dante had returned to verify that claim… and say goodbye to an old ally.

Dante was welcomed by the Drydens' and sent to Avernus's tower, where the old man lay in bed in the dark room of his laboratory. Dante approached from the shadows, eyes glowing in the dark. The old man heard him and cried out.

"Who goes there?" Struggling, he raised his hand and Dante could see sparks of lightning on his fingertips, but the old man's strength failed him and his arm collapsed on the bed.

"It's only I," Dante responded quietly, "Dante."

Avernus nodded, his head still aimed at the stone ceiling. "Ah yes. I remember a Dante. Many in fact. There was a recruit named Dante. There was an acolyte, as well. There was also a Commander. A fine man," Avernus rambled with pale, stale eyes staring blankly at that ceiling. "My finest work."

Dante sat on the bed's side and looked down on the shriveled old man's face, which twisted in worry at the shift in the bed's weight. He looked at Dante, blankly.

"Florian!" he screamed, "Florian! There is a stranger here!" Suddenly his voice turned into a whisper and tears welled up in his eyes. "Sophia? Sophia, is it you? It wasn't my fault…"

Dante watched silently as the old man sobbed until he heard the crackling of fire. Swiftly, he leaned to the left, and the fireball sailed past him and struck the wall. Dante dived to the floor as another ball of fire grazed the top of his hair. As he dived, he drew the dagger at the back of his waist and threw it at his shadowed assailant, whose icy blue eyes glowed in the dark. The mage's loose arm sleeve was caught by the dagger and embedded into the wall behind him. The mage tried to pull his arm out but yelped at the sound of tearing cloth. Dante made his move and, in an instant, got up from the floor and smashed the mage against the wall with his forearm on the mage's throat.

"Wait! I-I'm a Warden! Just like you!" the acolyte squeaked. Dante tightened the pressure on the mage's throat, causing the young man to choke. His eyes bore into the frightened mage's, whose eyes only widened and his lip quiver. Finally, he tore his dagger from the wall, tearing the mage's sleeve, and let him go. The mage dropped to his knees, clutching his throat.

"Point taken…" he choked out.

Meanwhile, Avernus continued to whisper apologies to the dead into the dim moonlight that shined through the open window. Dante returned to his side, leaving the coughing mage on the floor. Avernus, again, looked upon Dante's face with tears streaming down his face.

"My dear friends… I am so, so sorry…"

"They're gone, Avernus. It's only me: Dante, the Warden-Commander."

The young acolyte gasped behind him, but Dante ignored him. Avernus squinted his eyes at him, recognition flickering across his face. He stretched his hands and touched Dante's face.

"Ah yes," Avernus muttered, "My life's work." He grabbed Dante's face with both of his hands, a wide smile on his face. "So, you have returned?"

Dante nodded slightly. The blind man's shaking hands continued to explore Dante's face, until Dante grabbed them by the wrist. "I have."

The old mage nodded his head and hummed in understanding. "It seems your journey is not yet complete, is it?"

"No."

Avernus let out a dry laugh. "And you thought differently, didn't you? You thought you could rest?"

Dante's jaw clenched. "The Fifth Blight is over. The Darkspawn routed."

"Yet, here you are. A funny thing, isn't it?" Avernus grinned at Dante's silence and then fell into a coughing fit. The acolyte rushed to his side, frantically searching through the knapsack on his waist. Dante could hear the glass of a dozen vials clink inside the mage's bag as he searched. Finally, the boy pulled out a small vial and gave it a little shake. The green liquid sloshed around the inside of the vial. He popped open the cap and let it hover over Avernus's lips.

"Avernus. It's the medicine. Hold still," the mage said softly. Avernus held back his coughs long enough for the boy to pour the medicine into Avernus's mouth, who gulped it down with difficulty. After a few short coughs, Avernus calmed down and patted the boy's hand.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely and turned back to the silent Dante. "Why have you come, Dante? Surely not to see me in my last moments? No, you are far too cold for that. So, why? Is it my Archdemon Elixir?

"That's one reason," Dante confessed. "Where is it?"

"You can't have it."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said. Avernus had never been one to object to the use of his projects, yet he continued to shake his head stubbornly.

"I will not allow it."

"Why?"

Avernus turned his head towards Dante. Their eyes met and, for a moment, the old man seemed to see Dante. "The elixir will destroy you. It makes monsters out of men. I have seen it happen. I've done the experiments."

"What kind of monsters?" Dante asked.

"The potions that you have already drunk caused some changes in appearance. Whenever its abilities are used, your veins darken and your eyes turn a violent shade of crimson. The biggest side effect was the incessant bleeding, but with the Old God blood…," he stopped in careful contemplation.

"The Old God blood is similar to dragon blood. It grants supernatural abilities that transcends anything I had thought possible. Yet, from my tests, it turns the body into a more… bestial nature. Skin turns to scales. Horns develop. Teeth sharpen. That does not include the blood loss, as well." Avernus began to breathe heavily from the long explanation. Finally, he caught his breath and continued, "So no, you can not have it."

Dante shook his head in annoyance. "And? It could simply serve as a final option. Avernus, this may be your finest work yet. If it as powerful as you say, the consequences will be worth it if the fate of the world rests in our hands."

Avernus let out another scoff. "Is your quest so dire that the 'fate of the world' is at stake?"

"It may and it may not. It depends on how you answer my questions."

"Pertaining to what?"

"The Calling."

Avernus let out a dry, humorless laugh. "The Calling? My secret of overcoming it? Oh boy, you know not of what you seek." Suddenly, Avernus gained a horrified look as his stale eyes widened and brow furrowed. "I sacrificed so many," Avernus continued, "for only a few years."

"Necessary sacrifices. For the greater good," Dante comforted. Avernus shook his head fervently.

"What greater good?" he spat, "What have I achieved with those two hundred years? The end of a Blight… or a few seconds of peace? I have given so much… and gained so little." Avernus began to mutter apologies, again. An apology for not saving those he had sworn to save. An apology for sacrificing those who needed not be sacrificed.

Dante frowned. "We Wardens must do _whatever_ is necessary," he said.

Avernus scoffed again. "I told myself that. That what I did, I did for the greater good. That morality was a prison, meant only for the shortsighted. No. I needed not justify my actions to myself, because, in the end, I always knew the truth. That I was wrong."

"The methods didn't matter. They never mattered. Good can still be made from your work, Avernus. Tell me how to cure the Calling. Tell me how to save my life and the lives of others," Dante pleaded. Sorrow seeped into Dante's voice, one long kept hoarse, monotone, and violent.

Avernus became lost in nightmares. "The ichor of the Titans. The blood of the Old Gods. The sacrifice of the Scaled. The curse of the Forgotten. The deal with the Formless," he muttered in a trance, "Ichor of the Titans. Blood of the Old Gods. Sacrifice of the Scaled. Curse of the Forgotten. Deal with the Formless."

Dante sighed as Avernus rambled on. _His mind is lost_ , Dante thought with a mournful shake of the head. He got up and began to walk out, past the acolyte whose mouth lay agape at the sight of him. He opened the door of the tower and a cold wind blew past him as he departed. The bridge that connected the tower to the main castle was covered in foot's deep snow, so Dante drudged through it. The acolyte, who had been left open-mouthed in awe, ran after him.

"Dante!" he cried. Dante turned around and looked at the young man's narrow face, which had a few strands of honey brown hair hanging over his forehead. Besides that, his hair was combed nicely. The stubble on his chin led him to the appearance of a boy trying desperately to look the part of a man. _Still, he looks familiar_ , Dante mused.

The acolyte tried to catch his breath for a moment before he began to speak. "You," he began in between breaths, "probably don't remember me."

Dante remained silent and regarded the skinny mage with cold eyes. The mage introduced himself, "I'm Finn. We… uh… had a little adventure, a few years back. You, me, your dog, and Arianne. You remember her, right? Dalish elf? Cute? No? Yes?" Finn rambled.

Dante made an annoyed groan. The boy liked to hear himself talk, which he continued to do

"We were looking for Eluvians! There was something about a hot witch… I think? Anyway, we were going through ancient elven ruins and dwarven thaigs and haunted marshes and fighting Darkspawn and—"

"Yes, yes!" Dante said with a wave of his hand, "I remember. You were the Circle mage with too much time on his hands."

The insult must've gone over his head because his eyes lit up and his smile widened. "So you _do_ remember me!"

Dante rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Can I come?" he blurted out. Dante frowned and eyed Finn with suspicion.

"What…?"

Finn chuckled and facepalmed. He took a deep breath, before looking back at Dante. "It's just… you're going… _somewhere_ , and I wanna come too!"

Dante let out a heavy sigh. "Boy, you have no idea what you're asking."

"But I do!' he said giddily. He shook with excitement as he talked. "You're gonna be going to more ancient elven ruins and thaigs and all that good stuff! Do you have any idea what I could _find_ in those places?"

"A sword through the chest?"

"The amount of lore I could learn would be totally worth it!"

Dante wanted to smack the boy for being foolish. This was what the new generation of Grey Wardens had to offer? It was simultaneously disappointing and disturbing. Although, he could prove useful.

Dante pointed behind Finn, towards Avernus's Tower. "I thought you were taking care of him."

"I _am_ , but Avernus is going to die soon," Finn stopped and thought on his words. "Wow. That just makes me sound like an asshole."

Dante's nose wrinkled in disgust. "It does, doesn't it?" he retorted, then turned and walked away.

"Wait!" Finn called out behind him. "I'll just report to Vigil's Keep! That's where you're going, right? I'll just tell them my plans! They'll send someone else, won't they?"

Dante ignored him and continued walking. By the time that he reached the door to the main castle, he heard what he had wanted to hear.

"I'll give you the Archdemon Elixir if you let me come!"

Dante stopped. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He turned his head slightly to the anxious blood mage.

"Show me."

* * *

 _ **And so begins this story. The overall story will stretch from before 'Inquisition' to shortly after the events of 'Trespasser.' These moments specifically occurs around the end of Dragon Age II. If any of you have any feedback and/or questions about the story, then feel free to ask. This is probably the most ambitious thing I've ever written and when mixed in with the stress of my 'real' life, I think it's safe to assume that I need all the help I can get. Hope you enjoy!**_


	2. Act I:II - A Warden's Return

_**Disclaimer: All right to the Dragon Age series belong to Bioware and, sadly, EA.**_

* * *

"Open the gates!"

The large wooden doors opened with a loud creak, revealing the throne room of Denerim's Royal Palace. It was a drastic change from the Imperial Palace in Val Royeaux, what with its dour look and emptiness. Where the Imperial Palace had been vibrant and colorful, the Royal Palace was dull and plain. More than that it was practical and spoke truths about the spirit of the Ferelden people, unlike the elaborate veils the Orlesians wore to mask their own truths. It was as Dante preferred it anyway.

Beside Dante walked Rex, with the same steely determination of his master, and Finn, who looked at the tapestries and carvings that bordered the room's walls with a boyish curiosity. Before walking in, he had been warned.

"Do not touch anything," Dante had said with a finger in the young mage's face. The boy made a slight grimace and chuckled nervously.

"No promises."

It would have had to suffice.

Now, Dante walked towards the Ferelden throne… and the man sitting upon it. By the time they had reached the foot of the small set of stairs leading to the throne, Bann Teagan began to speak.

"You come before Alistair Theirin! Grey Warden and King of Ferelden, First of His Name, the— "

"Yes, yes Teagan. I think the Hero of Ferelden knows who I am."

Alistair got up from his throne and began walking towards Dante, while Teagan grumbled in the background. Alistair hadn't changed a bit. His blonde hair remained messy and undone, with most of it standing up at the front, and some dirt could be spotted on the side of his face. That joyful grin, that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, also remained unchanged.

"You know I hate when you call me that," Dante said. Their hands clasped and an echo resonated across the room as they did. Rex jumped a little at the sound, but he is ignored while the two old friends pat each other's backs.

"Yea, well, that's why I keep using it."

Dante smiled. "It's been too long, Alistair."

"I can tell!" Alistair laughed and pointed at Dante's face. "Is that a wrinkle I see? Ouch. Has Morrigan been hard on you?"

Dante smacked Alistair's hand away. "How did you know I found her?"

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

"Morrigan is fine! She asked about you, you know?"

"Oh really? What did she say?"

"She wanted to know if that crown of yours had given you any sense." The slight traces of a grin appeared on Dante's face. "From what I can tell… not much."

Alistair clutched his heart as if he had been struck by an arrow. "Oh! You wound me!"

Dante laughed and they began to walk towards the king's chambers. Despite their initial jests, there was a serious matter that needed to be attended too. It had been written in a cryptic letter meant for the king's eyes only and was sent almost immediately after Dante had emerged from the Eluvian. It was a matter that needed to be kept private. As they began walking, Finn and Rex followed, until Dante pointed at Finn.

"You stay."

Finn's jaw dropped in surprise. "What? Why?"

"I won't say it again."

"Fine," Finn grumbled. He crossed his arms and watched as Rex continued to walk alongside Dante. "How come he gets to go?" he blurted out.

Dante turned and raised an eyebrow. "Because he's my dog. Are you my dog?"

"Well… no."

"Then?"

The door slammed shut behind Dante and he turned to see Alistair take a seat on one of the couches by the fire. Alistair waved over one of the elven servants and talked gently.

"Could you get us some ale? Two mugs… unless…," Alistair points at Rex, who merely wags his tail expectantly. "Does he even drink?"

"He's a dog."

"Hey! I've seen a mabari down a gallon of Grey Whiskey!"

"Mhm. How did that mabari feel come morning?"

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and nodded. "Good point. Two mugs. Thanks."

The servant girl's face flushed and she nodded fervently. She walked away hurriedly to fulfill the king's request. Dante could only shake his head at the scene, while Rex lay his head on his paws and whimpered. Dante rolled his eyes, smiled, and reached down to scratch behind the dog's ears.

"I see you still haven't embraced your role as king," he said to Alistair.

Alistair shot Dante a quizzical glance. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"You asked. A king isn't supposed to ask. A king is supposed to command," Dante pointed out. Alistair sighed and tapped his foot. The discussion was an unwelcome one, which the bastard king had probably heard one too many times.

"I don't want to look like a – well – a cunt."

Dante shook his head and sat next to Alistair. The fire crackled in front of them and in it Dante could see a hundred battles. He looked away and folded his arms.

"All kings are cunts," he said.

"Yeah well, cunt kings usually end up with their heads on spikes, if you didn't know."

"You'll be fine so long as you aren't _that_ big of a cunt."

Alistair shook his head. "Whatever! Enough about cunts! You came here for a reason, didn't you? It just wouldn't be like you to visit if you didn't have one. So, let's get to the point please?"

Dante blinked in surprise. Alistair had never liked the idea of being king, but he had accepted the role nonetheless. Still, he didn't like to be reminded of it. Despite his ravings of not being an actual king, Dante could still see his potential. Ferelden was prospering under his rule and had graciously recovered from the damage done by the Fifth Blight. The people loved him for his down-to-earth demeanor, while nobles simply gave him their begrudging respect and loyalty. However, it would not be enough until Alistair fully accepted his place in all of it. Convincing him of such was not Dante's place or purpose though. It was Alistair who would have to do that. Besides, his only purpose was to cure the Calling.

"I need access to the information concerning the disappearances around Lake Calenhad."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The words that came out of Alistair's mouth were forced. The muscles on his neck had also tensed when he said it and his eye twitched. Lying was an art that remained foreign to Alistair, it seemed.

"Fifty people have disappeared in the area surrounding Lake Calenhad. Thirty-three of them were mages, while the others were dwarves. Last month, a patrol encountered ten survivors in a cave. All of them were dying from the Taint." Dante leaned towards Alistair with narrowed eyes. Alistair, on the other hand, refused to look at him. "I need access to whatever information you can give me."

Alistair's shoulder sagged in defeat. He rubbed his eyes and looked back at Dante with a slight shake of his head. "How do you even know this?" he asked through a heavy sigh.

Dante remained stone cold in his demeanor. "Morrigan," he said simply. Alistair threw his hands up in frustration.

"Of course it was!" he said. Dante frowned at Alistair.

"I don't see why you're making this any more than it needs to be. I'm offering my help in this."

"No. It's not that. It's just— "Alistair stopped for a minute, trying to search for the right words. Finally, he spoke. "Bann Teagan and some of the other nobles wanted this to be kept silent."

"Why?"

Alistair paused again, before continuing. "Because it the survivors weren't _just_ Tainted. They also had… lyrium growing out of them."

It was Dante's turn to pause. This hadn't been what he was expecting. No matter how many scenarios he could play in his head, life always dealt him its most impossible hand.

"Lyrium?" he asked breathlessly. Alistair made a solemn nod before continuing.

"Not just any kind either. This one was red."

Dante leaned back and flexed his jaw. Red lyrium? He had never heard of such a thing. If it was growing out of Tainted individuals, then… would that mean it was connected to the Blight somehow?

"It was nothing like I had ever seen before, Dante," Alistair continued, "The survivors were… insane. They were rambling in some strange language. At first, we thought it was ancient elven, but when we brought in some linguists to translate – well – they couldn't understand it. 'Strange, yet familiar,' I think is what they said."

At that moment, the servant girl had returned with two mugs full of ale. Alistair grabbed one and smiled at the elf, while Dante remained immobile as he looked at the fire, lost in thought. Alistair tapped Dante's shoulder, causing him to jump a little. Alistair pointed at the cup of ale, but Dante shook his head. He got up and rolled his shoulder.

"It's time I take my leave."

Alistair scoffed with a grin. "Already? You're about to miss the main event! I was about to make Teagan dance for us. _Command_ him, actually! All kingly and stuff."

Dante let himself smirk a little at the reference, while Alistair broke into laughter. When all had quieted down, he shook his head.

"I can't. Next time perhaps?"

Alistair smiled sadly and chuckled. "Sure."

Dante turned to leave. Before he did, however, he turned around and looked at Alistair's eyes. He frowned, and Alistair raised his eyebrows.

"Something on my face?" he asked. Dante shook his head, but his eyes bore into Alistair's.

"Your eyes. They've dimmed."

"What?"

"Your eyes. They're supposed to be a glowing icy blue… but… they're not."

"They aren't?" Alistair rubbed his left eye and blinked a few times. It was true. Alistair's eyes had turned into a pale brown as if they were returning to their original color. "Well… yours are the same."

"I know. Strange." He turned around and opened the door to leave. As he opened the door, Alistair called out to him.

"By the way! The survivors mentioned a hooded man that saved them. Now, there have also been reports of a hooded creature helping travelers around Redcliffe. Whether or not there's any connection… well, you'll figure it out."

Dante nodded and took a deep breath. Behind him was his greatest friend, one he had shared many an adventure with. One he would gladly die for. And now, he was saying goodbye.

"It was good to see you again… Your Majesty."

Alistair laughed, before clearing his throat. "You too… O' great Hero."

* * *

Dante hadn't wanted to visit Vigil's Keep. It would've meant a return to the Wardens and the duty he had decided to leave behind. It would've meant confronting the shame he had meant to run away from. Yet, in the notes Alistair's spymaster had given him it was implied that the Grey Wardens had more information about red lyrium, but were unwilling to cooperate. If such a thing was true, then it would mean… well, he wasn't sure what it would mean. All he knew was that it was something worth investigating. Besides, Dante would need companions if he was going to venture into the Deep Roads as he had planned. Rex and the boy were not enough.

"So what did you and the King talk about?"

Finn was nosy, a side effect of being curious. He was also talkative, a side effect of lacking common sense. Yet, he had proven useful and Dante knew that he would need the boy should trouble arise. Avernus had trusted him, after all. Something which may not have proven beneficial in the end. Dante could hear the Archdemon Elixir as he sloshed inside the vial on his belt with every step he took. He knew to be wary of it, but he also knew of its benefits.

" _It grants supernatural abilities that transcends anything I had thought possible"_ was the old man's words. At the same time, though, he had warned him of the consequences that would come from drinking it. Warnings Dante had taken to heart.

"We discussed many things," Dante replied with an air of mockery.

"Yes, but what?" Finn seethed. Dante let out a dry chuckle.

"Like cunt kings and disappearances and…," Dante paused to let the next two words sink in, "red lyrium."

"Wait. What?"

"I'm not repeating myself."

"B-but that's important and I just trying to make sure I heard you right! Did you say red lyrium?"

Dante looked back at Finn. "What do you know about it?"

Finn looked up at the sky in serious contemplation. It may have been the first time Dante had seen him take a subject seriously. Most of the time, there was that boyish attitude that came with every new thing they saw and every complaint he ever made. Now, however, there was silence.

"It was the only lesson Avernus refused to teach me. Well, that and how to cook."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Look I—," he stops and bites his tongue before continuing, "One day, I was looking through Avernus's notes, which are — let me tell you — amazing! He actually learned to manipulate blood to take a solid—"

"The point!"

"Ugh. Fine! Anyway, I found notes on a form of lyrium that seemed to hold effects _opposite_ to that of normal lyrium. I don't know the details. Avernus stopped me before I could take a real good look at it. Then, he threw them in a pot of acid."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Dante made a slight grunt in understanding and prodded over the new information. He didn't see the gate to Vigil's Keep until he heard the guards.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Dante raised his head slowly so that the guards could see the pair of glowing eyes underneath his black hood. They nodded in understanding and let go of their sheathed swords. The sun shined off their sleek Silverite armor and they stood in front of the gate with careful discipline and stoical faces. They had been coined the Silver Order and had once been personally trained by Dante himself. Yet from the two faces, he could only recognize the guard on the right. Dante and Finn dismounted from their horses and led them by their reins towards the entrance.

"Your business here?" the guard on the left asked. Dante pulled down his hood and the right guard gasped. The other guard looked at the other in question, but the guard on the right continued to look at Dante, jaw dropped. It was then that Dante spoke.

"My name is Dante Cousland, former Warden-Commander of Ferelden. I have returned."

* * *

The courtyard smelled of mead, sweat, and steel. It was abuzz with the sounds of recruits laughing over their tankards, blacksmiths hammering away at their work, merchants haggling over their goods, and guards as they spar. On the battlements and in the wide towers, the Silver Order stood over them motionless in their glistening silver armor. Near the entrance of the prison, a dwarf in Warden armor chased an elf with an empty tankard while the others laughed and cheered. In front of the statue of Andraste, a Warden recruit was praying. In the training yards, a trainer berated his trainee for his performance as the others went back and forth with their fights. A group of Wardens, armored and glum, made their way past Dante and through the gates to begin their patrol. But as Dante passed them, he could hear the whispers and feel the silence that came behind him. Vigil's Keep held its breath with every one of his steps and the eyes of its onlookers fell upon him.

"That's him."

"The Hero of Ferelden."

"-thought he died."

The whispers were incessant, yet necessary. Let them grasp at straws as they create their rumors. Let them hero worship to their heart's content. It would make the truth that much more bitter. Despite it all, though, Dante ignored them and carried on. His purpose was the palace in front of him, a dull and dreary thing even as it basked in the sun. Its roofs were a dark crimson and its walls a dark grey, and it stretched across the width of the fortress and its pointed towers climbed halfway up the length of the mountainside the fortress was built in front of. As Dante neared, the large doors of the palace swung open and out came an entourage of Grey Wardens and the two Warden-Commanders who stood out from the bunch. Their grey armor lay in plates over their striped coat mail, as the silver Warden emblem on their chest piece shined in the sun. Their heads searched the crowd that had gathered behind Dante and his company, before finally settling on him with an accusing glare. Dante gave them a glare of his own and, finally, the whispers stopped. The blacksmiths stopped hammering away. The recruits ceased laughing. The merchants halted their haggling. The guards dropped their wooden swords. The dwarf held off on his chase and the elf stood still and stared. For a moment, all that was heard was the whistling of the cool breeze as it rushed past them.

The Warden-Commander on the left Dante recognized. A weathered woman with a shaved head and a face full of wrinkles and small scars, Dante had met her following the Darkspawn Civil War, in a meeting in Weisshaupt Fortress with the other Warden-Commanders. Her name was Clarel, the Commander of the Grey in Orlais. They had not agreed on certain philosophies and their relations were a bit soured. The other one — which he could assume was his replacement — Dante could not recognize, nor did he necessarily care to. He was a withered old man with a limp, small face, and a slight hunched back, yet his eyes held a certain wisdom to them. What he looked to lack in physical ability, he more than made up with experience it seemed. Dante could not blame them for the pointed accusations that came from their glares. In their eyes, a thousand words were spoken on the neglect of duty and shirking of responsibility. He had left, and it had come without much explanation. However, they had no right to judge him. Not now or ever.

"So, you've finally returned, Dante Cousland." Clarel spoke with a tone heavy with disdain.

"I have."

"For what purpose?"

Dante smirked. "My own. Is it wrong now for me to see the state of things? Is it wrong for me to lay witness to my legacy?"

With that, the old man mouth twitched, and his neck tensed. His voice came out as frail and hollow. "It is wrong for one to abandon that legacy and leave it to rot!"

Dante's eyes hovered over to the old man and he tilted his head in inquiry. "Did I leave it to rot? Does my legacy," he raised his hands and looked around the fortress and the crowd of faces, "looked rotted to you?"

The old man gripped his cane and opened his mouth to respond, however Clarel raised his hand to stop to which he promptly complied. It seemed she was the true power between the two of them. Dante's smirk dissipated as Clarel spoke.

"Why are you here, Dante Cousland?"

He hated the way she said his full name and he hated the condescending tone she said it with. She had no right to accuse him of shirking a duty that he had already fulfilled. Yet, he still had a purpose.

"For reasons best spoken of in private," he said with a serious glare. Clarel nodded and turned her back to him.

"Then by all means," she said with a wave of her hand, "come along."

Dante made a slight nod and entered the palace with Rex and Finn in silent tow. The two Warden-Commanders walked ahead, along with their entourage.

"Well, _someone_ is grumpy," Finn muttered. The smile on his face was one poorly concealed behind his hand. Rex made a lectured bark and Finn scratched the back of his head with a smirk.

"What? I'm not being disrespectful! Just stating the obvious…"

Another lectured bark comes, and a slight growl emanated from Rex's throat. Finn threw his hands up in defeat. "Just because your job is stressful doesn't mean you have to be a total bitch about it!"

Rex responded with a series of barks as he lectured Finn on the burden of leadership, while Finn retorted with a series of loud words and hand gestures. Finally, Dante snapped.

"Quiet!"

They both went silent. Rex grumbled and Finn rubbed the back of his neck. "You started it," he muttered to the old dog.

The fire at the center of the throne room crackled silently and rays of light shined through the open windows of the room's vaulted ceiling. They walked past the tall columns and the large wooden throne at the end of the room. The group of Wardens in front of them stopped to guard the door to the palace library as Clarel and the other Warden-Commander enter. Dante entered after them.

The library hadn't changed much. It was still small, cramped, and smelled of old and fresh parchment. Books and crumpled paper stretched across the floor, some neatly stacked and others messily piled. Light poured from the large window at the side of the room and filled the dusty room. Dante pinched his nose to keep from sneezing and kicked aside any books in his way. Finn looked at the mess in wide-eyed horror and stood paralyzed at the sight, before rushing forward and collecting the books on the floor while muttering incoherently. On a chair, with an oversized tankard in his hand and a braided beard full of ale, sat a broad shirtless dwarf with his feet stacked on a large table at the far end of the room. His hair was combed back and the bright red it once held had faded to adopt a lighter shade to compensate for the grey. A long scar traced down his blind left eye and auburn tattoos were spread out over his face. His whole appearance was of an older, rougher man, but when he saw Dante, he broke out into a large grin.

"It can't be," he said in sustained disbelief, before breaking out into a roar of a laugh and rushing towards Dante. He pushed past Clarel and the other and stumbled a little as he did, but ultimately reached Dante with an outstretched hand that Dante clasped with a grin of his own.

"By the Blighted Stone, it _is_ you, you marvelous, glorious bastard!" His voice had a slight slur to it, but it wasn't anything Dante hadn't already been used to. He may have forgotten his face, but he could never forget his voice.

"How are you, Oghren?"

"Drunk. No real surprise there, but I'm fine. Ancestors be damned, I'm better than fine. I'm friggin' great!" He looked at Clarel with a puffed-up chest that did nothing to hide his thick, burly chest hair, which had crumbs of food stuck to it. "This is the guy I was telling you Orlesian whelps about you! Mister Badarse, himself! Hope you brought your brown pants."

"Yes, Oghren. The legendary Hero of Ferelden himself." The words came out of her mouth like a tired yawn. "If you could leave for a moment. We have much to discuss with The Warden and would like you to take your," she looked at the spilled ale and crumbs on the floor and back to the shirtless, swaying dwarf in front of her, " _business_ somewhere else."

Oghren turned to Dante. "You in some kind of trouble, Dante? Need me to kick their arses for you?"

"Now Oghren," the old Warden-Commander began, "I have already told you of the consequences of your continued drunken behavior. There will not be a second warning!"

"Ah, shut your hole _Lubin_." Oghren looked back at Dante and snickered. "H-His name is _Lubin_."

"Oghren—"

"Shut your arse!"

"Oghren." The last voice was Dante, as he pat Oghren's shoulder. "We'll talk later."

Oghren grunted and scoffed. "Hmph. Fine. I'll be outside then, finishing my drink. You meet me out there, ya hear!" He took his leave and, finally, the three commanders were alone, with the exception of the scurrying Finn and sleeping Rex, who had found a comfortable spot atop a pile of books. The three sat down at the long table with Clarel and Lubin together in one end, while Dante sat alone on the other side. Dante crossed his arms and sat in silence while the other two Wardens scrutinized him with heavy eyes. The silence was unnerving and weighed down on his shoulders. There was a burden to it, but Dante couldn't name it. That was the most unnerving of it all. Lubin leaned forward and made a steeple of his thin hands as he spoke.

"Warden Dante, it has been five years since you had been last seen. A large investigation was made surrounding your disappearance. You are aware of this, yes?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. It would've been awfully irresponsible of you not too."

"Where were you?" Clarel asked with measured impatience. Lubin looked at her, but did not say a word. Dante could sympathize with the old man. Clarel was a no more than a guest, a highly respected guest, but a guest nonetheless. She was out of her jurisdiction in Ferelden and out of her place to be taking charge.

"Are you interrogating me?" Dante said with an air of amusement. The pointed glares and accusing scowls had already answered his question, but he wanted to hear them say it.

"You abandoned your post and disappeared for five years," Lubin said with a wave of his hand. "By all accounts, you are a deserter. Now, if you were a normal Warden or a recruit, we would let such a thing go, but you weren't a recruit or a normal Warden. You were the Commander of the Grey."

"You neglected your duty as a Grey Warden during a time when Ferelden was still recovering from the Fifth Blight," Clarel added.

Dante shook his head and laughed. "I did not know that a Grey Warden's duties also involved contributing to the rebuilding effort."

"It has nothing to do with contributing to the rebuilding effort. It has everything to do with further ridding the surface of the Darkspawn that still plagued it and there were still some arou— "

"Were there?" Clarel blinked at the interruption and the firmer tone. Dante glowered at her as he spoke, his scowl growing deeper with every word. "Following the Darkspawn Civil War, all centralized Darkspawn forces had been dealt with and only small remnants remained. If I remember correctly, those remnants were situated in the Korcari Wilds and most villages were being left alone, with the exception of a few small raids that even a group of farmers could guard against. Do not presume to lecture _me_ on the Darkspawn threat at the time, Warden-Commander Clarel. Whilst you were twiddling your thumbs in Orlais, making excuses for whatever pleas for help were sent, _I_ was dealing with the real threat. Now, you may sit and judge for as long as you wish, but I couldn't care less.

"I've come for a singular purpose. Not for a restoration of my position. Not for forgiveness. I've come to cure the Calling."

An empty silence filled the room, interrupted only by Finn's muttering as he organized the books on the shelves. Clarel's face was pale and Lubin's was flushed. The light from the window that once shined on their face was gone and they were left in the shadows. Clarel rapidly tapped her fingers on the table and looked into Dante's eyes. The disgust, the anger, it was gone, only to be replaced with weariness. It was then that Dante noticed it: the sagging shoulders, the bags under her eyes, the deep wrinkles, the paleness. Clarel had the makings of a burdened woman, running the last lap of a very long race. A race for life.

"You've been hearing it too," Dante realized. Clarel nodded and looked at Lubin, whose eyes remain downcast and face solemn. "How long?"

"A few months," she said, "It's been enough."

"Why haven't you gone into the Deep Roads?"

"Because we've all been hearing it," Lubin said.

Dante blinked in shock and frowned. Was there some connection? If the Wardens have been hearing the Calling pre-maturely, then who would be left to fight the next Blight. Better yet, what was causing this?

"Do you hear it now?" he asked. They both nodded slightly. "Strange then that I do not."

"But you had heard it, correct?" Clarel said.

"It's been some time, but yes. The whispers came after a nightmare. Since then… nothing."

"Strange indeed." Lubin stroked his beardless chin in careful contemplation, before turning his attention back to Dante. "You said that you intend to cure it. How?"

Dante wiped away the dust that had collected on his shoulder plates. "That I still don't know. However, I do have a lead. Several, in fact." He turned to the Wardens and leaned forward. "What do you know about red lyrium?"

Clarel's eyes went wide. "How do you know about that?"

"The king is a friend of mine."

Lubin chuckled and put his face in his hands before speaking. "If you must know, it was brought to our attention following a Deep Roads expedition conducted by a group of adventurers under Kirkwall."

"Their names?"

"Unimportant… for now. Anyway, they ventured deeper into the Deep Roads then any have dared and — as you can imagine — they discovered something. An ancient thaig with pre-dwarven architecture."

"Elven?"

"I do not know. In the thaig, a red lyrium idol had been found. The idol had been lost, apparently stolen by one of the adventurers, but, upon investigating further, some of our Grey Warden researchers have discovered a multitude of notes surrounding red lyrium. We've tried to decipher the contents of these notes, but the language was… strange. Not elven, yet it was strangely similar to it."

"So, nothing came out of the notes?"

"Nothing of value. The researchers who continued to decipher the notes ended up going insane. One of them ended up… tossing the notes in a fire. In the end, we closed the investigation."

Dante clenched his jaw. It was another dead end. It seemed his original plan was the only solution after all. Still, there was something that didn't make any sense.

"Were these notes given to Avernus in Soldier's Peak?" he said slowly. His gut knew the ugly answer, but he needed it confirmed.

"No. Why do you ask?"

Dante grit his teeth. "Because he had a collection of them. Finn!" He called out to the boy, but there was no answer. Upon the next call, he could see Finn's dirty head pop out of the corner of the bookshelf. Dante waved him over and so he came, a stack of books in his arms. He set the books on the table before rambling.

"I can't believe the shape these books are in. I saw a copy of " _A Catalog of Elven Relics_ " with a ripped page. A _ripped page_. Do you know how utterly—"

"Finn!"

"What?"

Dante pointed at the pair of Warden-Commanders at the end of the table. "Tell them about Avernus's notes on red lyrium."

Finn raised his eyebrows, nodded, and turned towards them. "Uh. Let's see. Where do I start? So, it was at night and I was cleaning up Avernus's desk when I noticed a folder on something labeled 'Red Lyrium.' So, I took a look and although some of it was in the Common Tongue, a lot of it was in some sort of elven language. I tried to read it, but he stopped me and threw them away." Dante observed the shocked expressions on Clarel and Lubin's face, before adding his own information.

"I have reason to believe that in Lake Calenhad, around Redcliffe, there is an entrance to an unexplored section of the Deep Roads. A number of disappearances have occurred in that area and King Alistair has informed me of a group of survivors who were found with red lyrium growing out of their bodies. Next to that, they had the Taint. Somehow, it is connected. Now, I seek to investigate but not alone. Give me some men. Let me discover where this entrance leads. If I cure the Calling, all of our problems end."

Clarel and Lubin looked at each other. Clarel leaned over to whisper something in his ear, and Lubin did the same to her. She shook her head, but he continued. His whispers sounded like shuffling mice as he argued his point. Eventually, she relented.

"We," she began, "had had our own plans for dealing with the Calling."

"And what did these plans entail?" Dante responded. She gave a sorrowful shake of her head.

"It's confidential. You need not know."

"Then have you considered my plan?"

There was a pause before she responded. "Yes."

"And?" He was starting to grow impatient and the word came out as a growl.

"We cannot risk such an expedition. But — let me finish! However, you may carry out your plans, but we will spare no men. You can only take volunteers."

The chair had clattered behind him when he had stood up. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. However, it was better than nothing and it was the only reason he hadn't lost control. He would take what he could get, but it hadn't meant he had to like it. He glared at the two Warden-Commanders before turning his back and leaving.

"Come on," he said to Finn and whistled for Rex. Rex's ears perked up and he got up lazily from the pile of books he had been sleeping on and stretched before joining Dante.

"You're lucky I hadn't gotten to those books yet," Finn told him heatedly. Rex barked happily, and they departed from that dark and dusty library, leaving Clarel and Lubin alone to their thoughts.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 3 is a work in progress at the moment. Hoping to have it up tomorrow. Also, check out the prequel one-shot I had written called "Legend of the Warden." I wrote it about a month ago and it gives a little more depth to Dante's character as well as his past.**_


End file.
